"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Aren't I allowed to have an adult in here with me?"
"You're 17. You telling me you want your mommy?" The tin-can built man lied his pen on the metal table, the clink echoed throughout the room. "I can see you're going to be trouble," he whined, putting the notepad down, too. The man looked back, nodding at the black wall as if giving a notion to something invisible.
Another man came in, he had a golden badge stapled to his chest and pants that were clearly choking his groin (it was uncomfortable to watch). Altogether he looked very unkempt, he must've spent this morning ignoring mirrors. "I've seen that face before. That's uh- Paul Bloom," he recalled, snapping his fingers. His lazy brown eyes lit up.
"You know this kid, Bradley?" The first man sniffled.
"Yeah. That's uh- Jennifer's boy. That and I uh- busted him for stealing a couple times," the second man made public. "Let's save the good cop bad cop."
"Mm. Well, looks like you've got it handled. I'll be on my way. You have a good day, Paul." The first guy winked at him then shuffled out of the room, whistling.
"Can I leave too?" Paul snarled.
"Do you know who I am?" The man ignored.
He scanned the badge like he had few times before. "Officer Bradley." Only that wasn't his real name. He once called the man something else.
"Yep," he picked up the jilted notepad and pulled a small green scratch-off pencil from out of the front pocket of his shirt. "I want to be able to erase my mistakes," he explained, answering to Paul's visible bewilderment.
Punching Ali wasn't such a great idea. It happened outside in the front yard, and where Ali lives there are perky little white bitches constantly walking up and down the street with their incessant little chihuahuas and pompom dogs. They're Massachusetts's Beverly-Hills supermoms that see a fox and cry wolf.
The room was freezing, the temperature dropped a few degrees since he first entered. Either that or the guilt was starting to creep up on him.
"What happened, Paul?" The officer cautioned. The worry hung onto his face. He held the pencil tight in his palm.
"Listen, Brad—"
"No. No. No," he warned Paul, his pointer-finger aimed at his forehead. "No attitude. I'll slap you my damn self. What the hell happened, Paul?"
"I punched Ali Kassab in the face."
"And why did you do that?"
"Are you recording me?"
"No. I'm genuinely asking. What did he do? I know you're a good kid. I'm sure there's a really good reason for what you did."
"He called my girlfriend a slut. Boom. Are you happy you got your answer?"
"Are you happy you could be charged with a serious case of assault? You fractured his nose."
"Oh, Ali's got a broken nose. Big deal. He shouldn't have thought he could talk to me that way," Paul teased, rolling his eyes.
"This could mean years of jail time. Does that even matter to you, son?"
"I. Don't. Care. Don't you people understand?"
"What has gotten into you? I don't remember this kid. You were a good kid. Don't worry, I'm going to help you get out of this."
"Whatever, Brad. Just because you dated my mom doesn't mean I like you. It means the literal opposite."
"Whatever, Paul," the man joked, leading him out of the room.
YOU ARE READING
Yellow Marigolds (ck)
Teen FictionPaul's life unravels after the shocking death of his mother. As he begins to learn to survive on his own, he also begins making poor decisions, all while battling life with teen endeavors. SpOiler: It eventually leads to his ultimate downfall. ...
